


Lucky Me

by OpalizedFossil



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gems In Heat, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalizedFossil/pseuds/OpalizedFossil
Summary: A strange smell lures Lars into his captain's chamber on the Sun Incinerator. There, he finds Emerald in a less than proud state.





	Lucky Me

**Author's Note:**

> Guess I'm writing the Lars x Emerald smut, since no one else has yet, lol. Enjoy! <3

The Sun Incinerator unleashes a roar as its two mighty engines ignite, with an exaggerated eruption of flames from its backside that doesn’t subside until the ship has blasted through the planet’s atmosphere in a fraction of a second, springing away from the empty colony’s barren earth and into the eternal blackness of the spatial void beyond, punctuated only by the silvery gleam of the stars and the greyish shape of the planet quickly vanishing into the distance behind it.

“And we’re outta here,” Lars announces more to himself than to his crew, the Off-Colors positioned haphazardly around the bridge with Rhodonite and the Rutile Twins focused on the windshield while Fluorite gauges the engines below the deck and Padparadscha zones out indifferently, no doubt in thoughtful anticipation of her next vision.

Sighing, Lars leans back in his captain’s chair, a grand throne intended for a quartz general twice his height and three times his breadth, swallowing him up in its plush leather and towering armrests, but comfortable nonetheless. After several minutes more, he switches off the ship’s hyperspeed. There’s a safe distance between them and the colony now; there’s no need for them to travel at such staggering speeds when there’s no one there to pursue them. The Sun Incinerator splutters nearly to a halt midair, then carries on at a much smoother, slower speed, gliding silently through the empty space that surrounds them.

Lars gazes through the windshield at the emptiness beyond, black and eternal. Here, there are no little coastal towns or greasy franchises paying minimum-wage for summer jobs or friends and family unintentionally oppressive and smothering. Here, there are only the stars and the emptiness of space and the comfortable companionship of the Off-Colors. Here, he’s whoever he wants to be.

Their next destination is several earth days’ time away. The ship’s hyperspeed would get them there faster, but not even a finely designed ship such as the Sun Incinerator could tolerate such staggering speeds for long, not without tearing itself apart and stranding them in the abyss of space. So, he has no choice but to wait. He’s in no hurry, anyways. He’s tired. The crew is tired. He might be an undead man among immortal aliens, but he’s long since learned that there must be time for rest and recovery between missions. Mission after mission after mission makes them careless and, with Homeworld, carelessness is a risk that he cannot afford. To be careless is to be captured and tortured and killed.

Lars yawns. He doesn’t need to sleep, but sleep passes the time and mends the mind. So, with a flick of a switch, he turns on the ship’s autopilot, bids his crew farewell for the night, and ventures down the corridor in the direction of his grand captain’s chambers, where the phenomenally oversized bed with its massive cushions and sweeping canopy are yet again intended for someone much larger than him, but comfortable nonetheless.

He’s halfway there when he notices the smell.

Lars stops and sniffs. First, it smells smoky, which sends a sharp stab of panic through him as his thoughts race recklessly to the engines smoking seconds before igniting into flames, but reason overtakes him swiftly. It smells smoky, but like campfire smoke, not engine smoke. A natural smoky, not the pungent odor that the engines make when something goes wrong with them, more like the not entirely unpleasant aroma of burning leaves or wood. It’s grassy, too, and certainly musky. Definitely earthy. And definitely not a smell the ship would make on its own, not unless some strange plantiform from their most recent landing had somehow become lodged in the thrusters, and he has his doubts about that, too.

A musky, grassy, woodsy scent. His nostrils flare. There’s an underlying sweetness to it, too. He wants to dislike it, but finds that he cannot, his nose twitching eagerly even when he wills it to stop. Then, he inhales too much of it all at once and sneezes, before finally carrying on down the corridor, trying to follow the strange stench to its source, pausing occasionally to contemplate it yet again. It’s so, so strange. It’s simultaneously terrible and wonderful and he hates it and he likes it and he just wishes he knew what the hell it is. The closest thing he can compare it to is _marijuana_ , of all things, if marijuana smelled more like maplewood and…

He stops. Like a woman. It smells a little like a woman. Sharp, fresh, feminine sweat like one would smell on the boardwalk in the heat of summer.

His tongue passes involuntarily over his lips. He’s becoming increasingly aware that his heartbeat, now so slow that he seldom notices it at all, is hastening and that there are beads of sweat rising suddenly on the swell of his forehead, one slipping down past the bridge of his nose. He feels hot. He doesn’t like it. It makes him uneasy, fills his head with thoughts of alien intruders intent on luring him in with their weird smell and then devouring him whole.

The smell emanates almost tangibly from his closed chamber doors. Lars chews anxiously at his lower lip until he tastes blood, thoughts wandering again to alien invaders trespassing on his ship or man-eating plants the size of satellite towers bent double in the corner of his chambers. Then, with a not entirely threatening snarl, he throws the doors open and barges into his room, boots stomping pointedly on the hard marble floors.

Nothing on space or earth could have prepared him for what waited within.

Sprawled across his oversized mattress is Emerald, the Sun Incinerator’s legitimate captain, before he had not entirely kindly snatched the ship away from her several months before. He had needed it for his crew. She was a respected captain on Homeworld. She had access to as many ships as she wanted or needed; he had taken this one only because he had seen the opportunity - and possibly because Emerald had already proven by then to be entirely too easy to pester and tease. Still, Emerald had met her ship’s thievery with vengeance and had been pursuing them relentlessly ever since, sometimes encountering them on outlying colonies before he tricked her into their freedom yet again, sometimes missing them altogether. She was always one step behind them. But now, it seemed, she had finally caught up to them.

So, he hadn’t been entirely incorrect about the alien invaders hungry for his blood, after all.

Snarling, Lars braces himself for an attack. “Hey! How did you get in here?!”

Except Emerald is alone, without her citrine escort or her arsenal of weapons or even her omnipresent cape or overstated shoulder pads, which he had since deemed functionless and just part of her overdramatic and exaggerated aesthetic, fitting for someone with her comically sharp canine teeth and absolutely obscene hairstyle.

Her complete and utter lack of offensive weapon or armor might have startled him in such circumstances, had he not been more immediately surprised by her complete and utter lack of something else. She’s practically _naked_ , with her curves on prominent display through the skimpy spandex of her bodysuit, clinging wetly to the taut muscles of her stomach and the slight swell of her breasts and the…

Oh, stars.

Emerald doesn’t answer him with anything more than an unsteady exhale. Beneath the sweat-damp material of her uniform, her chest rises and falls erratically, the chamber growing uncomfortably warm from her heavy panting. She sounds almost as if she’s in pain, her face contorted in a twisted grimace and her one gleaming, green eye looking to him pleadingly for help.

“A - Are you...okay?” Lars is too shocked to see her in such a state not to ask. He feels his heart swell foolishly with sympathy as a huge tear beads up in the corner of her one eye, then trails down her cheek to settle at her chin for a moment before it drips down onto her chest. Wet stains on her flushed face, dark from her nose to her forehead, indicate that it isn’t the first tear to fall tonight.

“C - Captain…,” Emerald croaks. Her voice is hoarse. All its usual bravado has turned to empty bluster. Her pride is gone. She’s stripped down to her bodysuit before him with her pussy on prominent display, wet labia peeking prettily through the wet spandex, and her face enscripted with such an intense expression of misery that he can’t help but feel bad for her.

She’s never called him captain before.

 _It’s a trap_ , Lars’ more reasonable mind screams. She really is here to lure you in with her delicious smell and her pretty pussy ( _oh stars, her pussy_ ) and swallow you whole as soon as your guard drops.

Lars licks his lips anxiously. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I - I’m…” Emerald has to stop and swallow hard before she can continue. “I’m in heat…”

Lars cocks a brow at her, startled. “ _In heat?_ You mean, like a dog or something?”

It’s a stupid question. She doesn’t know what a dog is. She’s never seen a dog in her life. There aren’t dogs out here in the middle of space. But, she would sooner be shattered than let even another ounce of her dignity die before him today, so she just nods agreeably and whimpers pitifully and closes that one gleaming green eye before he can see in its watery reflection that she doesn’t know what he means. Lars notices anyways, of course, but he doesn’t draw attention to it. Not now.

She’s _in heat_ , Lars thinks, in heat like an animal, clearly having spent an indeterminate amount of time lounging patiently in his quarters and mounting his pillows, as evidenced by the sheer number of big wet blotches scattered across their cushiony surfaces. She had been in here for stars knows how long, waiting for _him_. Why him?

 _It’s a trap_ , that little voice in the back of his head pipes up again. It’s a trap, she’s faking it, she’s going to get you where she wants you and then she’s going to kill you.

Another voice pipes up, louder this time, that she would have to be a phenomenal actress to be faking it so sincerely, complete with a flushed face and heavy breathing and big crocodile tears. And he knows from their growing number of encounters that Emerald is no actress. She’s bratty and she’s hissy and she’s _raw_. She hides her emotions about as easily as he could hide that he’s prominently pink.

“C - Captain…,” Emerald whimpers again. Her voice raises three whole pitches in a single word, that one gleaming green eye cracking open to gaze at him needily.

You shouldn’t, he thinks. Something’s wrong with her. If it isn’t a trap, then it’s some form of trickery. A bribe, maybe. A bribe to get him to like her, to get close to her, in hopes that he’ll return her ship or turn himself in.

“Captain, I want you to fuck me,” Emerald pleads, fingers flexing against the rumpled sheets, splattered with wetness where she’s rolled about on them all day, that one eye watery with fresh tears that threaten to fall.

Lars swallows hard. Stars, he wants her. But, he has to have answers first. “Why me?”

Emerald answers too quickly. “Why not?”

Lars cocks a brow at her, then grins treacherously. Cautiously, he walks towards her, pausing only long enough to shed his captain’s coat and the heavy boots on his feet, until he’s so close that he can feel the heat that radiates off of her in tremendous waves. The smell is so much stronger now that he’s here beside her, and he decides once and for all that he likes it. Emerald wriggles in anticipation just by having him nearby, three feet closer than he was before.

Lars leans in close, face sweating from the sheer warmth of her, until his lips are tauntingly close to hers, a mere three inches in-between them. Then, softly, he whispers, “Wrong answer, Emmy.”

Emerald whimpers as he pulls away. “W - What?”

“Wrong answer,” Lars teases her, the mattress heaving beneath his weight as he climbs onto the bed beside her, sitting with his knees folded underneath him, in part because it keeps him what he deems a safe distance from her and in part because it conceals his achingly hard erection, “You really want some, Emmy? Then, you’re gonna have to answer a few questions first.”

Emerald doesn’t have the energy to glare at him for more than a moment, before she huffs and nods. “Fine.”

“Good,” Lars practically purrs, grinning delightedly, “Now, I asked you, why me?”

Emerald goes as quiet as she can for several moments, punctuating the air only with her panting, so fast and hard now that Lars is sure she’s getting breathless. She seems to be contemplating her response, her fingers reaching achingly for that liquid warmth blossoming painfully between her legs when he suddenly snatches her wrist and drags them reluctantly away.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Lars scolds her, “No touching yourself, either. Now, answer the question, Emmy. I need to know, don’t I?”

Emerald whines desperately. “I don’t know!”

Lars raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know why, but I want _you_ ,” Emerald confesses, and he’s surprised by the messy sincerity of it, “You’re strong and you’re smart and you’re _clever_ and I suppose that makes you a proper mate or...or something!”

Grinning, Lars pokes her nose. “Listen here, lady, we’re gonna fuck, but that doesn’t make us ‘mates’ or whatever, got it? You’re cute and this is gonna be fun, but I hardly think my crew would approve of me getting tied down to a gem like you, hmm?”

Emerald nods desperately in agreement, those sharp little teeth gnawing away at her lower lip as her fingers make another dive for between her legs, only to be snatched away again. She whines protestingly, then hisses in delight when she feels _his_ fingers on her instead, brushing tentatively against her through the sodden, sticky spandex. Then, all too soon, he pulls his hand away, holding his fingers in front of her and stretching them apart, spreading a slick sheen of wetness between them.

“All of this for _me_ , Emmy?” Lars prompts, grinning again. He holds her arm down with one hand, steadying her squirming, while he returns the other to the growing wetness between her thighs, stroking sweetly through the spandex. Emerald croons delightedly, hips squirming, until he steadies her again. “Hold still. Hold still and I’ll touch you.”

Emerald forces herself to hold still. He presses his fingers between her genital lips, sweeping them up underneath her clitoris in the worst possible tease, making her gasp.

“Now, next question,” Lars leers, smirking contently as he watches her eyebrows scrunch up in a pleasured grimace as he strokes along her wet labia, then fly up underneath her fringe of mossy hair when he nudges her clitoris again, feeling the hard little bud through the fabric, “How did you get in here?”

“The - oh, stars! - escape hatch on the underside of the ship can be opened from the outside!” Emerald blurts, her words slurring together wildly. He honestly couldn’t care less how she boarded the ship or when or where right now, his mind entirely with the persistent throbbing between his own thighs, but teasing her is too much fun to let her off with only one question.

“Okay,” Lars says, fingers trailing away from her pussy to feel the sopping wetness accumulated on the sheets underneath it, “One more question, Emmy. You ready?”

Emerald whines at the loss of contact. “Yes!”

Lars braces himself on both hands and leans in close, to breathe sweetly against her ear, whispering, “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes!” Emerald practically howls. Lars claps a hand over her mouth, suddenly remembering that they aren’t alone on the ship and that, if his crew hears something suspicious, they won’t hesitate to come and check on him. He trusts them, but he can’t afford to be caught in bed with a known enemy. Not now.

Emerald whimpers as he removes his hand, looking at him questioningly.

“Okay, Emmy,” he tells her, “but we have to be quiet, okay? Can you be quiet for me, baby?”

“Y - Yes,” Emerald says, but she knows she won’t be. She hasn’t been quiet a day in her life.

Lars raises a brow and smirks. “Just yes?”

Emerald swallows hard. “Yes, Captain.”

“Atta girl!” Lars jeers as he settles back onto his knees, the mattress shifting underneath them, and reaches for his belt buckle, fumbling it for a moment before he releases it and tugs the belt away, tossing it aside. His erection strains insistently against his trousers as he pauses in his venture to free it to peel his sweat-sodden shirt from his thin torso, sending it, too, onto the floor.

He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers when he’s distracted by a bright flash of white light, Emerald’s entire spandex bodysuit coming off cleanly in a magical pulse, baring the otherworldly beauty of her body to him in its entirety. The uniform had left little to the imagination, with how soaked through it was with sweat, but he’s startled nonetheless. She looks a lot less like an alien than he imagined she would; the slender slope of her stomach and the little swell of her breasts and the broad handles of her hips look startlingly human. Of course, she has her teeth and her claws, but overall, she’s as close to human as his other lovers had.

Only the feathery ruffle of fur around her neck, spreading out over her chest and shoulders and covering the tops of her breasts, surprises him. He stares at it for a moment, at how it shifts and moves with the rest of her, and realizes with a shock that it’s part of her body.

Strange that, with her plump pussy spread before him and her breasts bouncing delightfully with every breathless heave of her chest, the first thing he wants to touch is that peculiar collar of feathery fur, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and run his fingers through it, tugging on it softly as if to confirm that it is, indeed, attached to her.

“You mean...it isn’t a fur collar on your uniform?” Lars prompts, his other hand still fumbling his zipper, wrestling it down those final few inches before cupping his sweltering erection, hemmed up uncomfortably in his boxers underneath.

“N - No,” Emerald replies unsteadily.

Lars threads his fingers through it again. It has a form more like fur, made up of individual little hairs, but it’s soft like feathers or down or that fabric the throw on the sofa in the front room back home is made of. And it’s _hot_ , all the heat her body is emitting right now seeming to collect in its midst, his palm getting clammy and sweaty as he strokes it. With each touch, it engulfs his fingers entirely, plusher and fuller than he remembered. “There sure is a lot of it…”

“Well, I _am_ in heat,” Emerald retorts, as if this someone explains it. He cocks a brow at her. She huffs impatiently, then elaborates, “It’s for the _gemlings_ , you imbecile.”

But, by now, Lars has refocused his attention on shuffling awkwardly out of his tight-fitting trousers and uncomfortably sweaty boxers, standing up again to remove them and add them to the growing pile of clothing accumulating by the bed on the floor. He hardly hears her and, what he does hear, he doesn’t understand, but he’s eager to get on with this, so he just nods and agrees, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure.”

Emerald watches him discard his trousers with interest, settling back into the many cushions strewn about the bed and wriggling her hips eagerly as her puffy pussy lips brush teasingly against the sheets, dragging a hiss from her lips. She wants so badly to touch herself, but she’s recovered just enough of her pride not to do so with Lars watching. “W - Will you get over here and fuck me already?”

Her one eye widens as he turns around and climbs back onto the bed with her, one hand firmly wrapped around the shaft of his erection, the rounded head flushed the same deep magenta as his face, bulging and eager and absolutely quite a bit larger than she anticipated it would be. Gems were always well-endowed, shape-shifting their sex organs however they wished, giving themselves bulging cocks nothing short of impressive, but she hadn’t expected the same from a human. It’s a pleasant surprise. A _satisfying_ surprise, too, she hopes, grinning that sharky, sharp-toothed smirk of hers as he releases his shaft to instead cradle her hips in both hands, straddling her carefully.

One hand leaves her hip to sweep her chin up to look at him instead. He grins. “You ready, baby?”

This time, Emerald smirks back, two fingers trailing up over her thigh to spread her pussy lips wide for him, her insides a deep mossy green like the blush on her face, her clitoris nestled between them firmly amid a neatly groomed bush of hair. “You know I am, Captain.”

Lars licks his lips, fingers encircling his shaft again as he reaches down to guide it in-between her pussy lips, grinning hazily as he sinks it into her unfamiliar warmth. Inside, she’s soft and tight and smooth and infinitely better than any lover he’s ever had, pulsating gently around him and beckoning him in deeper and deeper until his hips are pressed flush to hers and he’s balls-deep in the enemy and holding her around the waist as he smothers her with a heated, hungry kiss.

Emerald moans into his tongue, pressed flush to her own in the warm wetness of her mouth, tracing up and down the pointed shapes of those little canine teeth of hers. He kisses her absolutely lasciviously for several moments before he remembers that he has to move, giving his hips an experimental thrust that must be what she wants, because she answers to it with another languid moan, her teeth grating dangerously against his tongue.

He pulls away, kissing her jaw, and looks at her. She’s flushed-faced, her one eye squeezed tightly closed beneath a furrowed brow as his hips glide rhythmically to and fro, sending his cock pumping in and out of her at exactly the right pace. That wonderful, hormonal smell is stronger than ever now, seeming to flood out of her in waves with all the sweet, slick juices she leaks out around him, smelling fragrantly of _Emerald_ , who smells like marijuana and maplewood and sloppy wet sex. He can’t help the little laugh that surges out of him in the bliss of the moment, fingers gripping tightly to her buttocks as he leans as far back on his knees as he can, before thrusting back into her deeply and drawing another sing-song cry from her arousal-plump lips, gleaming wetly in the chamber lights. He’s forgotten everything he told her about being quiet, moaning right along with her.

Lars bends back over her, an arm on either side of her as he pins her down against the pillows, aspiring to press as deeply and fully into her as he physically can. Her arms fly up around him, gripping his hair and his shoulders and the small of his back as he fucks her, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, punctuating the pungent air with their moans and cries until he’s hilting himself in her overwhelming, cushy warmth and biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he comes. And she’s right there with him, her inner walls constricting blissfully tight for one hot moment as she squeezes the come right out of him, trailing claw marks down the hide of his back, before her vision flashes white and, all at once, she relaxes. Her inner walls tremble feebly around him as she slumps back into the cushions, grunting weakly as he falls on top of her, his elbows giving out quite suddenly.

The two of them lay there quietly for awhile, punctuating the air with their panting, Emerald’s chest heaving against him as he rests his head between the swell of her breasts, just beneath the collar of fuzz that’s now slick and damp with sweat. Only now does she feel alien, when he realizes that there’s no heartbeat within the column of her chest for him to hear, but he couldn’t care less right now. She’s amazing, she’s incredible, and, right now, she’s his.

Emerald flicks his forehead. “Get up. You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry,” Lars groans as he hoists himself onto his elbows, his shaft schlopping out of her limply with a runnel of come, and rolls off of her, to lay alongside her instead. His chest heaves, his heartbeat faster than it’s been in months now, every panting breath filling his senses again with the overwhelming odor of her. He starts to tease her about how she smells like marijuana, but realizes quickly that she wouldn’t get it and it would be a snark wasted. So, he keeps his mouth shut instead.

Emerald lays there with him for a moment. Lars looks over at her and can’t help but smile, her cheeks no longer intensely flushed but instead glowing pleasantly with afterglow, her one gleaming green eye bright and alert, not hazy with that miserable arousal he had seen in it an hour ago. Then, with a contented sigh, he lets his own eyes close.

“Guess I’m stuck with you until the next time the ship lands,” he comments.  
Emerald looks at him, a sharp-toothed smirk stretching dangerously across her features. “Oh, lucky you.”

Lars cracks an eye open to look at her. “Lucky me, huh?”

“Captain, I’m going to be in heat for five to seven _days_ ,” Emerald informs him, very matter-of-factly, “Don’t think you’re off the hook _that_ easily.”

Lars opens both eyes now, smiling mischievously. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Emerald replies, “but, about what?”

“About me being lucky, silly,” Lars chuckles. He closes his eyes again, only to promptly open them when he feels the mattress shifting and heaving underneath her as she moves. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the very, very welcome sight of her standing at attention on all fours, presenting him with her shapely backside and plush pussy, the cushy lips spread wide from his recent intrusion, leaking pinkish come down her slick inner thighs, all glinting wetly in the chamber lights.

He sits up. “What’s this about, hmm?”

“Why, I’m ready for round two, Captain,” Emerald tells him with a treacherous grin.

Lars licks his lips. “Oh, baby, you’re right. Lucky me.”


End file.
